“It lets out inside the Woodland Expanse? How?” Zan asked, befuddled.

“We do not know how,” the Screen Master replied. “In time, we will. I know Sigma-Prime and I told you previously to stay away from this pathway, especially regarding its danger. Now, I am revoking my previous statement. Although this pathway presents danger, it might yet hold a tactical advantage for us if we can properly utilize it.”

It threw Zan for a loop how quickly the Wardens changed their tune regarding the pathway. Not that Zan was complaining, of course. Their new take on the matter suited him well, actually, and made his next question much easier.

“Speaking of which,” Zan said, “I need another earpiece.”

“Query: why do you need another earpiece?” Simulacrum asked.

“I… found a contact where the path lets out. I want to give him one so we can stay in contact,” Zan replied.

“Only Ranger-Knights can use your earpieces. Sorry, Zan, but your contact cannot use Shiv technology. There is, however, an alternative. Sigma-Prime, if any survived, can you grab for Zan a Honeycomb Horn?”

“Absolutely, Screen Master! Just one second…” Sigma-Prime replied as she waddled off to fetch something Zan had never heard of before.

Returning, Sigma brought for Zan a horn.

A simple, festive horn. Zan thought he knew how it worked: you blew into it. It made a big sound. That sound brought people far and wide, near. Simple.

“This is not a normal horn, Zan,” Sigma-Prime said, as if she knew what Zan had been thinking. “This horn is made from a substance called ‘honeycomb.’ Honeycomb no longer exists. Or at least doesn’t exist anymore in this part of the world. Assuming your contact can channel basic magic, they’ll be able to use this horn to communicate with you despite the vast distances which divide you.”

Taking hold of the ‘honeycomb horn,’ Zan felt its strange, mesh-like folds interwoven, folds overlapping. It felt wet.

“It is supposed to be so squishy?” Zan asked.

“Yes. The moisture you feel on the horn is normal. It means the material is healthy. Should the horn dry out, it will need to be re-moistened. This should not happen under normal circumstances, however. If the horn was to dry, do note, please, its repair might not be possible. If it is possible, its repair will not be for a long while.”

Nodding along as Sigma-Prime spoke, he said, “I understand. What a neat tool.”

“It is a very rare tool, Zan. Please treat it well. Be sure to emphasize this to your contact. Over the years, our collection of these horns has dwindled. We have one back up horn and only one. Treat our supply with reverence.”

Zan nodded once more. “I will bring this to my contact right away—”

“Actually, Zan,” the Screen Master said. “You will have to wait. It takes time for the command center to concentrate power. You recently used the Backroads, so for a few hours you will need to wait.”

Making a hand-gesture to show how the slippage of time evaded his grasp, Zan ate dinner. He was hungry. It was a meal the chef called a ‘burger,’ and comprised meat and thinly sliced vegetables between two buns. It was scrumptious! Zan eat the whole burger plus the potatoes cut into thin lines and cooked to a crisp.

So happy Zan was with his meal, he left a note for Jean Paul-Paul, the chef, letting him know how yummy it has been.

Done with his meal, but still hours away from when he could use the White Chamber again, Zan considered what he could do. A lot, but what did he want to do?

Remembering he was supposed to be finding someone who could translate the Old Tongue, in its written form, Zan felt the realization not slam into him, but slowly careen into him. He had no luck in the outer wilds, where the war still claimed whole communities, driving them into fear and isolation. As a last ditch effort, though, he went out among the community and asked.

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Unsurprisingly, no one knew a lick of spit.

Approaching near where the Old Man who Zan had fought alongside a few days ago, when they were defending their village’s retreat, he waved Zan over and said, “You look sad. What is the matter?”

“I’m trying to find a translator for a piece of Old Tongue script I found, but as you can guess, I am having a heck of a time,” Zan replied.

“Oh?” the man said. “Let me see.”

Zan showed him the list of locations he had received from Mac.

“Huh!” the man said. “Strange indeed. If only I were slightly better in my tongues. All I can tell you about this is it is written in the Fifteenth Declension.”

Zan gave the man an unknowable look. He didn’t need to say, ‘what do you mean?’ when the sentiment was written all over his face.

“A declension is a kind of talking — well, a kind of writing style. Declensions denote what kind of statement is being said. If I am explaining it right. Boy, it’s been a long time since my studies…” the man sort of explained.

“Can you read this?” Zan asked.

“No. I cannot. Once upon a time I might have been able to read it, but not anymore. I apologize if I raised your hopes. The script seems consistent, if that helps, though.”

“I have no idea if it does or not…” Zan said, his body still on edge from the excitement boosting his spirit.

“All the same, if you find someone who can translate, let them know about the consistency. That is important in Old Tongue scripts.”

Zan made another mental note. Though he doubted he would remember. He had lots on his mind these days.

Having questioned about everyone in the camp, Zan told Sigma-Prime to set up a call out just to make sure they did not miss anyone. The call out would be a bulletin board post, an announcement. However, they did it here… Zan confessed he knew little of how the camp worked when he was away. Then, when he was here, he was only resting. It worked well enough. Evidently. Everyone choose to stay day after day… not there was much of a choice for them otherwise. Considering the war, fear, lack of supplies. Touching his communication piece, then removing his hand, Zan thought twice about contacting Jiehong. He would probably still be drinking with his impromptu Thundervale buddies. He wouldn’t be back to normal until sometime later tomorrow, when his hangover ran its course.

So, I have time, I have time, Zan thought of the situation.

He waited in his room.

He napped. Or attempted to nap.

He exercised, basic stretching, really. Took a bath.

A much-needed bath, he reflected. Seeing the dirt and grim wash from his body, he wondered how anyone could stand him.

‘Yeash. I’m sure Luxley must have thought me a slob for barging into his chambers reeking to high-heaven,’ Zan mouthed.

Killing time doing what he could, Zan discovered along the pathway to Thundervale, in a tiny side path, actually, a lodestone.

So, he had that going for him, at least, he thought.

Entering the war room, Zan asked the Wardens a question: “So… I have a question. I get how this horn is magically imbued or whatever which allows whoever’s voice to carry unnaturally long distances. How, though, am I going to talk with him when I don’t have a horn? Like, how am I going to hear his voice?”

“As a Ranger-Knight growing stronger by the day, you have a natural attunement to these instruments. Or the crystal within you does; as the crystal matures and deepens its symbiosis with you, you will find anything capable of connecting to the crystal will connect with you. When your contact speaks into the horn, you — and only you — will hear their voice as though they were sitting next to you. This is because the honeycomb horn has an attunement. Therefore, you have one too.”

“Okay, I get it. Thanks. I am going to go and wait in the chamber. Have you guys heard from Jiehong, yet?” Zan asked as he final question before he departed.

“No. Our sensors show elevated blood-alcohol levels. Hence, we have assumed him to be taking a well-deserved break from his Order obligations,” the Screen Master said.

That last bit took Zan for a loop. “Well deserved,” he asked.

“Do you not believe your friend and battle companion is doing enough for the order?” Sigma-Prime asked.

“No, I think he is doing stuff. Same as me. We haven’t blunted the invasion, though. Even as we speak our countrymen are fighting for their lives. How can we think of taking a day off when our very country is being violated?!” Zan said with feeling.

Replying, the Screen Master said, “War is a long game of inches, Zan. Even the best of soldiers need rest. Sigma-Prime and I know you dislike others looking down on you for your age, but we must be clear: as a young person, the powers which be do not expect you to give yourself totally to this war. Your body can only endure so much before it will break. You are entitled to rest, Zan.”

“Okay… cool. I know I need rest… I just… it never feels like what I am doing is enough,” Zan said, letting his walls down for one moment.

“We know. In time, you will come to understand the duality of your role as a Ranger-Knight. As someone who holds so much power yet must learn the wise moment to use that power for the greater good. I promise you, in time, it will become easier.”

Thanking the Wardens for their kind words, Zan skipped his way back to the White Chamber. He felt so happy. With horn in hand, he entered the room.

Back in the White Chamber, Zan heard the chamber automatically fill with magical energy. Obviously, the Screen Master had been following him and knew when he was ready.

Readying himself for the big moment, Zan closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he was back in the Backroads, and ready to make a friend.